


Ever After: A Harmony Story

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Based on Ever After, Cinderella AU, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, No Smut, OR IS HE, Pure blood Harry, half blood hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 06:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20353885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: A Harmony Story based on the film Ever After.For Harmony & Co's Film Fest.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [HarmonyAtTheMovies](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HarmonyAtTheMovies) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Ever After (1998)
> 
> Giant mega thanks to the incredible admins at Harmony & Co for hosting this awesome event. This was quite out of the ordinary for me! But it's good to push ourselves and while I may have a few more wrinkles than I did before the summer, I'm excited to share this piece. 
> 
> In this story you will direct and slightly altered quotes from the film Ever After. No plaguerism is intended and is all meant in good fun! I own nothing recognizable except the errors, and those are all surely mine. 
> 
> Alpha Love: MCal  
Beta Babe: Ravenslight 
> 
> Thank you queens.

A loud clang woke Hermione, her eyes blinking slowly open as her focus settled on the steepled ceiling overhead.

There were times when she could forget who she was; usually, it happened in the few moments after her dreams faded and before reality set in. 

During those quiet seconds of reprieve, Hermione could imagine herself anywhere. But, as always, it was short lived. Her eyes grew round as she heard the morning bustle of the manor, and she hopped from her makeshift bed near the hearth. 

“ _ Shit, shit, shit _ .” Hermione stumbled into the main kitchen to see a flurry of activity. Linnie, the Greengrass house-elf, was working diligently to prepare the meals for the day. Ingredients floated through the air and several self stirring spoons rested on the oven.

Linnie was a no nonsense kind of elf. She was so terrified of being released that she often kept to herself, and this morning she offered only a small, disappointed scowl that Hermione had missed the sunrise; the curly-haired witch offered an apologetic smile. Almost as soon as she got her bearings, she heard the telltale jingle of the dining room bell. 

“Yous best be hurryin’! The lady is in a foul mood today,” Linnie said with a nervous twitch to her brow, her elbows deep in batter. 

With a low sigh, Hermione tied her curls up on the crown of her head. “Merlin forbid the woman has to wait five minutes for an egg. Wish me luck.” She smiled down at the little elf, but Linnie only shook her head with a furrowed brow.

Just down the hall, Hermione used the toe of her boot to push the door open into the main dining hall. “Good morning, stepmother. Astoria.” She nodded brusquely. “Daphne.” 

“There you are.” Ophelia’s narrowed glare settled on Hermione with intense scrutiny, as if she wasn’t exactly two minutes late. “Where have you been?” 

In the last ten years of living under the strict heel of Ophelia Greengrass, she had learned many things. One of which was: there were no such things as questions, only accusations. 

“Sorry, stepmother.”

“Someone’s been sleeping in the fireplace again,” Astoria said with a wicked smile. “Look at you, ash and soot everywhere. You might as well sleep with the pigs, Cindersoot—if you insist on smelling like one.”

A blush stained Hermione’s cheeks as she served the food to her ‘family.’ 

Ten years ago, her father, a well-respected wizard with little land but a decent living, had married Ophelia and joined their houses. Her own mother, a Muggle, had passed less than a year before, and the quick realignment of their family with the pure-blood dynasty of the Greengrasses had left her near breathless. 

Everything happened quickly— _ too _ quickly. Her father fell fast and furiously in love with Ophelia Greengrass, seemingly forgetting the woman he had spent the last dozen years with entirely. 

However, things shifted shortly after the ceremony; the starry look in her father’s eyes faded. He moved nervously around the house, careful not to upset his new bride, and hiding Hermione from her dangerous glare whenever possible. 

He deteriorated quickly, so quickly that the healers couldn’t even put a proper diagnosis on him. Before she really understood what was happening, he was buried in the modest Granger plot outside of town. 

Life moved on. Slowly and sadly, but it still on. Her father’s wealth was now entrusted with his bereaved widow, who spent most of her grieving period hosting dinner parties for her friends and gambling until the early hours of the morning. 

Ophelia often asked Hermione not to attend the dinner parties, as her half-blood heritage might offend some of her pure-blood friends. Then as house elves were dismissed, Ophelia wondered if Hermione might just pop down to the kitchen and help them bring up her supper… then maybe she could dust the mantel in the parlour before her friends arrived. 

Soon, Hermione’s formal rooms were offered to guests, and she was asked to sleep in the servants’ quarters to make room. That was her home now, she was a smart girl after all. She knew her place. 

Her only solace in this lonely old manor was the library, the one room untouched by any of the ladies of the house. Luckily for her, her stepmother didn’t seem to care all that much about the amount of time she spent in there so long as she was out of sight. 

That was where she lost herself. In those shelves, she was a princess and a warrior; she was an alchemist and a seer. Hermione was whoever lived on the pages of whatever book she lifted from its home that day. 

Despite the expansive library, night after night, she curled up with the same worn copy of the last book her father ever gave her.  _ Hogwarts: A History _ . 

She’d grown up waiting for little bouts of accidental magic to appear, staring at a salt shaker until her eyes were filled with tears of concentration, praying that it would tip. For hours, she would hold an extended hand towards a book, watching for any inclination that it might slide into her waiting palm.

Half-bloods weren't guaranteed magic, and some days learning and dreaming of being shipped off to Hogwarts and away from her stepmother’s prying stare seemed like all she could hope for. 

When her birthday arrived, along with an owl carrying a heavy ivory envelope with a red seal, her heart soared.  _ She was a witch. _

Due to bad luck or ill fate, Ophelia intercepted it first, plucking the letter angrily from the tawny owl and tossing it unceremoniously into the fireplace. “It wouldn’t be right. You understand,” she’d said with a placating turn of her mouth. “The girls would feel uncomfortable with you there, with your blood being what it is. It’s best you learn from the house elves.” 

Hermione was never permitted to learn, of course. Ophelia wouldn’t allow her a proper wand or any materials to learn. So, she was left to live out her days as a servant in the Greengrass Manor. 

_ There were worse things _ , she mused often enough… but even she wasn’t sure she believed that anymore. 

XXXXX

Merlin, he was happy school was finally done. Too many rules. 

Can’t stay out past midnight. Don’t fly your broom off school grounds. Be here and here and  _ here _ at the proper times or we’ll be sure to write home to your father. 

Bollocks, what a joke. 

Receiving that certificate of completion had been like Headmaster Dumbledore handing him his freedom. From here on out, he was going to live life the way  _ he _ wanted. 

He was going to join the Auror department and find a home outside of Potter Hall, he didn’t give two figs what his father thought. 

But, then reality set in. His father locked up his trust and demanded that he grow up and follow his familial obligations. 

Well, to hell with that. 

He’d taken the fastest broom from the hall and was currently whipping through the trees at such a speed the noise in ears was just a dull  _ whooshing _ . This is what he needed, just unbridled freedom to move. 

His own father had been Gryffindor; he knew what it was like to crave adventure and adrenaline. But James Potter didn’t seem to remember those feelings… now he only knew obligation. 

Harry broke through the clearing, the sun blinding him as he squinted behind his glasses, his knuckles tightening on the broomstick between his legs. 

As his eyes adjusted, he made out the frame of a young girl picking apples from the ground and he shrieked, nose-diving his broom into the ground and rolling in a heap at the base of the tree. 

“Merlin!” the young girl gasped, rushing to his side and pushing the cloak from his face. 

“Nope.” Harry groaned, blinking into the sunlight. “Just me.” 

“Are you alright?” she breathed, a single curl falling over her forehead as the sun haloed her riotous curls.

“Should be,” he said tightly as he pushed to sitting and took a brief look at the girl helping him for the first time. 

The moment she recognized him was painfully obvious. Her eyes flitted up towards his hairline and noticed the scar before she fell to her knees. 

“Oh, that’s really—” he stammered, “You really don’t need to do that. I’m just me.” 

“Mister Potter, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize who you were.” Her eyes were trained on the grass, and Harry couldn’t help it when his eyes rolled back dramatically in his head. “We have more brooms down in the back house if you need one.” 

“What I need is to be rid of this bloody scar on my head and my father, but if you’re offering, I’ll take a broom. Thank you,” he said with a grimace, hating that she was down on her hands and knees like that. “If you wouldn’t mind not mentioning that you saw me out there, I’d appreciate it. For your discretion—” he dropped his coin purse between her hands and took off in a light jog down the hill where the back house sat on Greengrass Manor. 

He found an older version of his Firebolt and tore off towards the horizon without another look back. 

XXXXX

It was evening before Harry started mulling over his return home, making long lazy circles over the lake as he stared off into the falling sun. 

A commotion below him caught his attention, and he pulled his broom to the left as he tried to spy what was happening. Even from the air, he could recognize the mop of wavy black hair and black scruff of his godfather; however, Sirius seemed to be in quite the predicament as four men picked through his belongings while he was held back by his arms. 

“Hey!” Harry shouted, tipping down until he was hovering just a few feet above the altercation. “Sirius Black, what on earth have you gotten yourself into now?” 

The four vagabonds startled, staring nervously at each other. 

“Oi! It’s here!” A boy with a thick Irish accent and a tattoo up his arm shouted, grabbing a roll of leather tied around the middle and taking off up the hill. 

“Do me a favor, would you?” Sirius’ brows lifted high on his head as he jerked head towards the thief. 

Harry’s smirked, pulling his wand from his side and freeing Sirius from the thugs holding him back. As soon as Sirius clipped one of them in the jaw with a right hook, Harry took off on his broom after the boy on foot. 

“ _ Incarcerous _ ,” Harry cast lazily, twirling the tip of his wand as several feet of thick rope shot out. 

Tossing his leg over the side of his broom, Harry stared down at the young man, a disappointed pout screwing up his features. “Hand it over,” he sighed, holding his palm out. 

“You can’t keep magic from us!” the man spat, his words heavily accented. “It belongs to us just as much as you.” 

Harry’s thick brows furrowed behind his glasses as he reached down and grabbed Sirius’ case with a long breath. “I don’t keep anything from you, mate. I just don’t like you stealing my godfather’s shite.” 

As he returned to the road, he found Sirius, lazily picking lint from his black robes with three tied up men behind him. “There you are! Tell me you got it.”

“Yeah, yeah. How’d you let this lot overthrow you anyway?” Harry asked, tossing the bag back to Sirius and straddling his broom. 

“Ah, they tricked me, you see. Made me think they needed help when really they were just after these,” Sirius said simply, rolling open the leather carrier. 

Harry’s eyes darkened as he stared at several wands tucked inside. “Wands?” He chuckled. “What on earth would they want with wands?”

“Muggle-borns. They aren’t allowed to buy wands in England, and these are of a special prototype. I’m trying out new wand cores and how they work with different woods. It’d be an awful mess if they got their hands on these without proper knowledge on how to work them; they could have seriously blown themselves up.” Sirius clucked his tongue between his teeth and turned back to the boys. “Do you hear that? You could have  _ died _ ! Think twice before stealing a man’s property,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment. 

“I didn’t know we were expecting you,” Harry said. “Does Dad?”

“Ah, of course. I’ve been due for weeks, but you know what it’s like— living the life of a wild man.” His brows waggled, and Harry barked out a laugh. 

“If my father has anything to say about it, I fear I’ll never know what that’s like. Do you want me to take your things back to the hall?”

“Ay, that’d be a good lad. I’d rather go on foot. Free them, would you?” Gesturing towards the men with a smirk, Sirius pulled out his own wand and shrunk his bags for Harry and then winked, transforming into the black shaggy dog that Harry remembered from childhood. 

Harry rolled his eyes, slinging the bag over his shoulder and muttering the  _ Finite  _ spell. 

XXXXX

The next day, Hermione’s worn boots peeked out of the hem of Astoria’s borrowed robes as she made her way towards the village. The thundering of her heart and scuffling of expensive fabric on dirt was the only sound for miles. 

She’d never really owned any galleons that she could speak of. Maybe as a child, her father had given her some pocket money here or there, but the large gold coins rattling around her pocket felt heavier and heavier with each step. 

Anyone who looked at her for than a moment would see that she was far from a pure-blood aristocrat; despite wearing yards of thick, buttercream coloured fabric, she felt naked. 

In all her, life she’d never worn anything this beautiful. Embroidered beads were woven into a fitted bodice, and a wide boat neck exposed the freckles along her shoulders. Her wild curls were tucked neatly into a loose braid, which was far from what Astoria or the other ladies of the house did with theirs, but they didn’t have her unruly mane either. 

The edge of the village came into view and Hermione’s palms slicked with sweat as she rehearsed her story for the hundredth time. 

“Hello, I’ve lost my wand…” she mumbled under her breath, her hands practicing what she hoped were natural gestures. “I’m here to purchase another…”

However, as she worked through the village bustling with magical folk, she felt her resolve weaken. She was an intruder, an imposter… she didn’t belong here. 

Pausing outside the storefront labeled Ollivander’s Wand Shop, she imagined what her life would have been like if her parents hadn’t passed away. If she had been staring through the clean window at the rows and rows of wands as an eleven-year-old girl and not a servant in a nice dress ten years too late. 

Over her shoulder, she heard a gruff voice and turned. There, next to a cart of fresh fruit was a small, dirty little boy, his wrist caught in the large hands of the cart keeper. 

Something like electricity sparked at her fingertips, and her robes swirled around as she stomped across the square. 

“Excuse me,” Hermione said with a tight jaw, tilting her chin up in an attempt to appear the part she was dressed as. “What on earth are you doing to that child?”

“This is none of your concern. Boy’s a thief,” the thick-necked man spat, angry veins protruding wildly from his forehead. 

She scoffed, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Release him this instant, or—”

“Or what?” He sneered, his bearded cheek tugging up into a scowl. “Piss off.”

The boy in his grasp whimpered as he was yanked to his feet. 

“Did you not hear me properly?” Her eyes narrowed. “I said,  _ let him go _ .” There it was again, that crackle along her skin. 

“And I said _ PISS OFF _ !” he screamed, and the entire square fell silent as she heaved in angry, controlled breaths. 

“You dare speak to a lady like that?” A familiar voice sounded from over her shoulder, and she startled, turning quickly to find Harry Potter with a judgmental glint to his eyes. 

The cart owner’s hands released the young boy, who gripped at his injured wrist. 

Her breath caught dangerously in her throat as she locked eyes with the same boy from the field the day before, but this time she had to fight the urge to fall to her knees. Today she was a pure-blood. 

She’d never seen anything quite like the peculiar colour of his eyes. They were a deep, vibrant emerald and boasted a golden starburst around the pupil. 

“This boy was stealing food from my cart,” the man grumbled, unable to meet Mister Potter’s gaze. 

If there were such a thing as royalty, the Potters would fall squarely into that category. They owned half the village, and while they didn’t flaunt their wealth, Hermione knew without a doubt they weren’t exactly known as the philanthropists of the region. 

“Miss.” Harry’s gaze studied her closely. “The guards will handle this matter; there’s no need for you to be involved.”

“I will not leave this child to be dealt with for a crime he couldn’t help but commit,” Hermione argued, the flame in her belly growing as she took an indignant step towards him. 

Harry’s lips turned up smugly, a chuckle slipping out. “Couldn’t help? Forgive me, but do we not all have the capacity to simply  _ not steal _ ?” 

“Excuse me,  _ sir. _ ” Her lips curled around the title. “But a child who is forced to steal in order to survive, cannot be condemned to a thief’s fate—or, rather, they shouldn’t. This caste system that serves you so well condemns an entire class to poverty. What else is to be concluded except that you first create criminals and then punish them for it.” 

His jaw fell slightly open, his emerald eyes tightening for a moment. “Let him go,” he finally said, tearing his eyes from Hermione and speaking to the cart keeper. “I’ll cover the cost for whatever he took plus a week's worth of produce.”

Biting down on her bottom lip to keep from grinning, Hermione turned towards the small boy and pulled the coin purse from her robes. “For you,” she said with a smile. “Be safe.” 

With a sobering breath, she stood and turned back towards Harry, who rested his weight on one foot as he watched her. 

“Thank you, sir,” she bobbed her head and made for the path out of town, Ollivander’s long forgotten. 

The commotion of the square resumed as the burly man shoved a bag full of food at the boy, paid for by Mister Potter’s own coin. 

Again the clattering of her heart picked up as she heard steps closely behind her. “Have we met?” Harry said, jogging to keep up with her and staring at her with a wrinkled brow and a curious glint to his eye. 

“I don’t believe so,” she answered quickly, taking a turn towards the edge of town before pausing. She couldn’t very well walk out of town on foot without blowing her cover. The side of her face screwed up in thought as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. 

“I could have sworn I knew every witch in the province…”

Hermione’s breath hitched as she plucked at her fingers, avoiding his intense stare at all costs. “Yes, well I’m visiting a cousin.”

“Who?”

She shrugged, her nose scrunching. “My cousin.”

“You mentioned that.” His rich chuckle filled the space between them, and her gaze lifted to meet his. “Which one?”

Two blinks. “The only one I have.” 

His lips pulled into a lopsided grin, and she felt something stir achingly inside her. “Are you being coy on purpose or do you honestly refuse to tell me your name?”

“No,” she rushed and then thought better of it. “I mean, yes.” Resuming her aimless wandering, she nearly growled as she heard his steps continue closely behind her. 

“Well, tell me your cousin's name so I might call upon her to learn who you are,” he called after her. 

Despite her unfailingly logic, her lips pulled up into a small smile. Harry Potter… desperate to know her name. Her mind scrambled, shuffling through possible names to offer him so she might slip away. 

She turned to peek over her shoulder, her cheek pulling up into a smile. “I fear the only name I can leave you with is Helena Mae Fawley.”

“ _ There _ ,” he smirked. “That wasn’t so hard was it?” 

“Godson!” A scruffy man with a neck tattoo boomed, his arms open wide. “Your father would like a word. Several, in fact.”

Harry turned towards the newcomer with an audible groan, and Hermione stole the few moments to dip into the crowd and down the nearest alley. 

“Bollocks,” she cursed under breath. What on earth had possessed her to offer her mother’s name she would never know, but she prayed that somewhere a pure-blood family existed with the name Fawley and that Harry Potter wouldn’t look any further into it than that. 

XXXXX

  
  



	2. Two

Strolling into the room with a swagger that was solely his, Sirius Black opened his arms wide to his childhood friend. James was perched behind his desk with his glasses hung low on his nose and didn’t spare a glance up at the two of them; Harry, however, noticed the clicking of his jaw.

“Honey! We’re home,” Sirius cooed, falling into the seat across from James and kicking his heels up on his desk. 

“Sirius,” James said cooly, not bothering to tear his gaze from his parchment. “This desk has been in the Potter family for two hundred years, and it’s worth more than Grimmauld Place. Please do me the favour of removing your muddy boots from its surface.” 

Sirius snorted, leaving his feet exactly where they sat. “Please don’t presume you’re the only pure-blood in this room with a family heirloom and some spare galleons in Gringotts. Some of us just choose not to flaunt it with halls and balls. Well—” He paused with a chuckle. “I do like to flaunt my ba—”

“Harry, take a seat.” James gestured to the seat next to Sirius. 

Harry sat, wilting into the tufted chair with a slight tilt of his head to the side as he waited. He knew what was coming. It waited for him every Christmas and summer holiday. The speech. 

James wasted no time in beginning. “Why did I hear you were out on your broom in the country?”

Harry’s palm opened to his father as if the answer was so painfully obvious he didn’t understand the reason for the question. “Because I was flying in the country?” Damn that servant girl had ratted him out.

“You were flying in the country after I specifically asked you to check in with the merchants?” James' eyes were still trained on his paperwork. He licked the pad of his thumb and eyed the next page with great concentration. 

“I did it this morning,” Harry allowed, running his hand through the too-long hair that he  _ knew _ his father loathed. “No need to scold me today.”

That seemed to be enough to gain his father’s attention; James dropped the parchments, letting them float to the surface of the desk. “Is that so? Do you know why I asked you to do that yesterday and not today?” James cocked an ear towards his son but didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “I asked you to do it yesterday because the merchant's taxes were due yesterday—NOT today. Which you would have known if you read past the first line of my note. Did you collect their taxes?”

Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I did not. I  _ did _ buy a Muggle a week's worth of food on your sickle though.” 

Next to him, Sirius’ shoulders shook with quiet laughter, and Harry tried his best to hide his delight as his father let out an audible groan. 

“Harry, you were born to great privilege and with that comes… specific obligations. You can’t be galavanting about in the country on a broom and shelling out sickles for every Muggle that comes around. You’re a Potter, and if you don’t get your act together then—” 

Dragging his hand through his messy hair, Harry slouched in his seat, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Then what? What on earth are you going to do, Father?”

James’ cheeks flushed crimson, and he slammed his palms against the table. 

“ _ Careful, that’s an antique _ !” Sirius’ admonished playfully, causing his friend to curse under his breath and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I will deny you your place as the head of this estate and simply…  _ live forever _ .” 

“Brilliant!” Harry clapped, jumping from his seat. “I don’t want it. Glad we could come to a conclusion we both like.”

“Harry James Potter!” His father boomed, and the hair on his arms prickled. “You  _ will _ take this seriously,” he warned in a low voice. “Sit the bloody hell down.”

Even Sirius pulled a face, his feet coming down to rest on the ground. Biting his tongue, Harry returned to his seat, shooting a single glance at Sirius, who shook his head once. 

“You will be eighteen in a month’s time. You have no choice but to wed by that point. Do you understand me? I have given you more than enough time and more than enough options.”

“Sirius never married!” Harry pointed out, his finger jutting in Sirius’ direction. 

“Sirius has a very…  _ unique _ —” James shot a meaningful look at Sirius “—situation. One that I don’t believe applies to you. You  _ will _ get married. You  _ will _ assume the responsibility of this estate, and you  _ will _ do what's expected of you so I can bloody retire!”

Sirius clutched his chest, kicking his feet back onto the desk with far more force than the first time, earning a narrowed glare from his friend.

All of his hopes and dreams had been living in fragile bubbles, and single handedly, James popped every one. “You can’t do this, Dad. Please, can’t you understand—”

“Enough, Harry.” James dismissed the thought with a decisive wave of his hand before pointing the tip of his quill at his son. “You’ve had your fun at Hogwarts, but it’s time to grow up. There will be a masque in five days time. Either you announce your fiancé or I will.” 

XXXXX

With the borrowed robes now returned to their proper place, Hermione pressed the wardrobe door closed quietly. Not a moment too soon either, as the door to Astoria's bedroom opened abruptly, and Hermione leapt away from the wooden doors, her eyes wide and round. 

“What are you doing?” Astoria asked with a sneer, sweeping into her chambers with practiced poise. 

Hermione gulped, stepping away from her tall chest and dipping her head in greeting. “Sorry, stepsister. Just returning some of your robes from being laundered.” She made quickly for the door but was stalled by Ophelia strolling grandly into the room. 

“Cindersoot—” Astoria called, her face tilting to one side as she considered it. “Doesn’t have quite the right ring to it. I’ll work on it. Anyway, since you’re here—” she said, sweeping her blonde hair off her shoulders and looking into the mirror lovingly at herself. 

Of course, Astoria was beautiful, equally as beautiful as Daphne in Hermione’s eyes. But Astoria had unparalleled confidence that was constantly fed by her mother, who favored her grotesquely. 

With a tight smile, Hermione stood behind Astoria and ran a brush through her long hair again and again, ignoring the conversation in the room easily. 

Ophelia was laid out on the chaise near the window, inspecting her nail beds when she mentioned something that caught Hermione’s attention. 

“—Potter. Apparently the little witch he met made quite the impression. He was asking after her most of the morning.” 

“What?” Hermione balked, turning towards her stepmother who responded with a stern glare. “Sorry,” she mumbled. 

“Do you know who it is?” Astoria asked, her fingertip smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle near the corner of her eye. 

“I do not. Apparently she’s staying with a cousin, but no one knows anything of it. There are only so many pure-blood families in this village. We’ll find her,” Ophelia said with a wicked smirk, and Hermione felt her blood run cold as the brush shook in her trembling fingers. 

XXXXX

That night at dinner, an owl arrived, carrying a heavy envelope with the Potter seal. Hermione’s hand rattled as she carried it through the house and set it next to Ophelia, who was so deep in a bottle of wine that Hermione wondered if she noticed her presence at all. 

Her slender fingers plucked the invitation from the table; Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Perhaps it was the Potter family looking for Helena Fawley. Would Ophelia know that name? It was plausible that her father might have mentioned it a time or two… 

Maybe it wasn’t a note looking for her, but rather telling them that their servant was masquerading as a witch and sticking up for Muggles. 

Her fierce blue eyes lazily roamed the page, but slowly, her features pulled together in confusion. “Merlin and Morgana…” she gasped, her fingers ghosting over her lips. 

“What is it, Mother?” Daphne asked. 

“The Potters—” Hermione’s breath hitched. “They’re holding a masque.” 

Astoria shrugged, unaffected. 

Ophelia’s lips pursed in unbridled glee, and she arched a brow in Astoria’s direction. “They’ll be announcing Harry’s betrothal.”

The sharp clang of steel on china echoed through the room as Astoria gaped down the table at her mother. 

The girls had submitted offers for marriage to the Potter family, both of which had been drawn up for several years now. Daphne, who had just completed her seventh year at Hogwarts, didn’t seem overly interested in becoming the next Lady Potter. 

But Astoria? 

This was all Astoria had talked of since the contract had been created, possibly even before then. It was no secret she had an awful crush on Harry growing up. Once, during her fourth year, she didn’t speak to Daphne for the entirety of winter holiday because her sister had the audacity to be in a study group with him. 

A shrill shriek followed the silence as Astoria rushed from the room, whining that she had nothing to wear. 

XXXXX

His broom nestled between his thighs, Harry approached Greengrass Manor with a pit in his stomach. 

Daphne was alright; they’d been sorted into different houses so he didn’t have a lot of one-on-one experience with her. Her sister, however, looked at him like he had his Gringotts balance tattooed on his forehead. 

He touched down on the gravel and approached the front door, running his hands through his hair nervously. Before he could knock, the door was ripped open and Lady Greengrass emerged, dressed as if she were expecting the Minister of bloody Magic. 

Harry smiled tightly. “Hello, Missus Greengrass—”

“Harry, dear!” she cooed, leaning forward to kiss him on both cheeks. “You know it’s Ms, don’t you? I’ve been widowed now for almost ten years.” She winked, and Harry’s stomach flopped.  _ Disgusting _ .

“I’m just here to return your broom.” He removed the borrowed broomstick from where it was slung across his back and held it out for her. 

“Oh!” Her eyes clouded as she took it. “I didn’t even realize it was missing.” 

“I was flying overhead the other day and had a bit of an accident. Your servant offered me one of yours.”

Her teeth were showing, but it was an uncomfortably stiff smile; her eyes were so strained and bulging that it looked more like she was growling. 

Behind her, Astoria skidded into her mother’s back with an ungraceful little  _ hmph _ , and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Hi, Harry!” She panted, clearly having run to greet him. She stood rigidly straight, and Harry’s eyes nearly bulged from his skull as his gaze flickered to her very obviously showcased bosom. 

His features flattened of their own accord. “Astoria. Daphne here?” Harry didn’t really care if Daphne was there, but he quite enjoyed jealousy washed over Astoria’s features. 

Astoria's hand floated through the air at his question, ignoring it with great effort. “What’s it like being done at Hogwarts? I can’t wait.” As she spoke, she tilted her shoulders back and forth, again bringing attention to her over the top cleavage. 

Idly, he massaged the back of his neck, staring up at the front of the house with a squint. “About the same. Traded a Headmaster for my dad. Both are far too interested in how I spend my free time. You’ll be done soon though, yeah? One more year?”

Astoria tucked her chin down, peeking through her lashes at him. “Unless I’m married by fall,” she said in a breathy voice. 

A strange shiver worked its way up his spine at the thought of sharing a home with Astoria bleeding Greengrass. “Thanks again for the broom.” 

“Anytime, Harry, dear.”

He took off on the broom he rode in on, managing to look over his shoulder only once. Astoria still stood on the step, waggling her fingers at him as he tore off through the sky. 

XXXXX

Later that afternoon, Harry sat in the tall grass by the lake with Sirius. His godfather was laid out, hands tucked behind his head as he soaked in the waning rays of summer. 

“Do you ever regret not getting married, Sirius?”

A throaty scoff came from the grass, and Harry chuckled. 

“Me? Nah, I’m not made for such things. Your dad? He was practically married before he left Hogwarts. Bollocks, he was so in love with your mum.”

Harry pulled at the overgrown grass at his feet and began thinking out loud. “Well, that’s a pretty important variable, isn’t it? He was in  _ love _ when he got married by eighteen. I’m not. Not even close. He can’t just rest his empire on my shoulders because he’s tired—I didn’t choose this.”

“He didn’t either,” Sirius said casually. “You know, your dad was an absolute riot when he was your age. He chased anything in a short skirt until the day Lily Evans finally gave him a chance. And when he fell, it was hard and fast. He changed her last name within a fortnight. There’s no saying it won’t be the same with you.”

Love? The entire concept was foreign to him, and the thought that he would learn to love a woman and want to share his life with her? Not possible. 

“I think I’ll go for a swim,” Sirius announced. “Too nice a day to stay on land.”

“Are you going as you?” Harry paused, his brows pulling high on his forehead. “Or Padfoot?”

Sirius barked out a laugh as he pulled his loose linen shirt from his shoulders. “Padfoot, my boy. Always Padfoot. You haven’t had a proper swim or scratch until you’ve experienced it one four legs. It is, perhaps, my third favorite activity on all fours.” 

“What's first?” Harry called after him, and Sirius responded with a crude waggle of his brows before he shifted into a shaggy black dog and took off into the clear lake. 

There had been a hundred times growing up that Harry had wished Padfoot had been his father instead. He was carefree and laid-back, not to mention wicked clever. Sirius had been disowned by his family during his time at Hogwarts; he was now a member only by name and the small townhouse that he shared with his brother in London, not that he was ever there. Sirius spent his time traveling the continent on his motorbike, or on four legs, or on two legs, or however he bloody well he pleased because Sirius did exactly whatever he wanted and no less. 

A shrill scream echoing off the water broke his reverie, and he jumped to his feet, wand drawn. 

In the middle of the lake, there was a violent thrashing; water was flying everywhere, and he could see Sirius, back in his human form, hiding from someone’s attack. 

“Sirius!” Harry shouted, rushing into the water until he was knee deep, where he then faltered. There was a woman in the water, whacking Sirius again and again over the head.

After a few moments, she calmed—well, sort of. 

Her thrashing ended, at the very least, but she was quite violently enraged as she swam for shore, her drenched curls slipping over her shoulders. 

“Helena?” Harry asked in a squeaky voice, and the witch’s eyes blew wide and round as she fell to her hands. “Merlin!” He rushed to help her stand, and she clung to his forearms as he stifled his laughter. 

“Bit slippery there,” she groused, emerging fully onto the shore. 

His gaze drifted down to the thin linen slip she had on that was indecently draping along her curves, and he gulped. “Here,” he rushed, summoning his cloak to his side and draping it over her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“I do believe that was my fault,” Sirius said, hopping from the water and shaking his hair out like a dog. “I came across her floating in the water, and she found me quite charming—witches always do when I’m Padfoot—anyway, you know how much I like startling people when they don’t know I’m me. I didn’t quite account for the water… or the feisty witch.” Sirius chuckled, dragging his hands through his wet hair. 

Harry’s laughter bubbled past his lips as Sirius offered her his most lopsided of smirks. “Forgive my godfather, miss. He thinks he’s quite the comedian.” 

Helena’s eyelashes fluttered, unable to look at him, and something stirred in his belly. She was really quite stunning. Her beauty was far more subdued than Astoria’s, who flaunted it like it was her most prized possession. 

No, Helena seemed not to know she was pretty at all, which made her far more endearing. She had large brown eyes the exact shade of milk chocolate, framed by thick eyelashes that rested on her cheeks when she couldn’t make eye contact with him. Her cheeks boasted a smattering of freckles and well… being a seventeen, almost eighteen-year-old boy, he found her quite fit. 

Harry gestured to the spot on the grass he had been resting in, and she took it with a small smile. “What on earth are you doing out here all alone?” 

Her perfect teeth cut into the flesh of her lip as she considered his question. “Just out for a swim.”

“Unattended?”

Her gaze shot up to his, and she glared at him. “Of course. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Ask your godfather; I put up quite a fight.” 

“That she did!” Sirius called from down the shore. 

Harry laughed when a blush stained her cheeks. “I just mean it’s quite improper for a woman of your station. Imagine if it had been Muggles to happen across you.” 

Surprisingly, her jaw clenched. “I take it you don’t spend much time with Muggles?”

“Of course not.” He laughed. 

“Half-bloods or house elves?” 

“They’re fine enough, but no, I don’t normally spend my afternoons playing Exploding Snap with them. Why on earth would I? It’s unnatural.” 

Her gaze darkened, and she stood abruptly, depositing his cloak in his lap and stomping off in the opposite direction, grumbling under her breath.

“Are you…” Harry blinked. “Are you angry with me?”

She paused, sweeping her wet curls from her shoulders and finishing the buttons up her torso. “Yes, if you must know.” 

“What cause could you possibly have to be angry with me?” Harry asked, jogging around her to block her path. There was something wildly intriguing about the witch, and he couldn’t quite place what it was. Most women seemed to nod along with anything he had to say, him being who he was and all, but not Helena. 

“You’re trying to bait me with your snobbery,” she said simply with an arched, accusing brow. 

Harry’s own eyes were blown wide as saucers by now. “Am I correct in thinking that you find me arrogant?” He couldn’t recall a single moment where anyone voiced an opinion of him that wasn’t stellar—unless you counted Professor Snape, and Harry never counted Professor Snape. 

Her arms crossed tightly over her middle, and Harry trained his focus on her eyes, not a fraction lower. "Yes."

Harry snorted indelicately, matching her annoyed stance with one of his own.“Do you care to elaborate on your insulting theory?”

“You just said that you find it unnatural to mingle with anyone who isn’t of pure blood! What a completely ridiculous thought that you are better than them because of who your parents are.” 

“You are quite the walking contradiction.” Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. “You live the life of a pure-blood aristocrat, dressed in your finest robes to mill about town, and yet you look down on me for the same exact thing.” 

“Absolutely not! I was the one to stop and help that poor boy—” 

“As did I, if you recall. I bought him an entire week’s worth of groceries.” She was an infuriating witch, but in most situations, such a temperament would make him want to storm in the opposite direction, but not her. She drew him in like a moth to a flame; he felt helpless to avoid her pull. 

“Why do you irritate me so?” She huffed indignantly. 

He smiled, taking a small step towards her. “Why do you rise to the occasion?”

There was a crack in her icy exterior as her lips twitched in a barely-there smile. 

“Will you stay awhile?” He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the question, Helena or himself. But when she nodded her head in agreement he knew for damn sure that there was something about this witch in particular that he had to know more about. 

XXXXX

Harry Potter was exactly as she presumed him to be, but then… on the other hand, he was everything she hadn’t expected, as well.

He was smug and a little pompous; he had a devil-may-care attitude that matched his unruly messy hair and charming smile. 

He was also funny—very funny—and the way he tended to speak out of the corner of his mouth made her want to leave a kiss there. 

Such ideas were ridiculous; she knew that. Some would even argue that they were dangerous. They were from completely different worlds. The words had fallen from his own lips that he didn’t cohort with anyone lesser than pure-bloods.  _ The git _ . 

“I’m surprised you weren’t at Hogwarts,” he remarked, his brows pulled low over his emerald eyes. “Finest school on the continent, if I say so myself.” He nudged her with his elbow before falling back to rest in the tall grass. “Where did you say you went? Beauxbatons?”

Panic clambered in her ribs. She didn’t know anything about any magical school except for Hogwarts, of which she had read its history over a hundred times. “I was taught from home,” she managed with only the faintest of blushes. 

“Did you like it? I can’t imagine being stuck at the hall with my dad my whole life. Hogwarts was my escape from it all.” 

His words felt like a hot knife in her side. An escape from her reality would have been lovely; she coveted his time learning how to use magic. 

“What do you do for fun then? If you’re always at home or visiting mysterious cousins?” Harry grinned up at her, one eye squinted closed due to the sun. 

For fun? Bollocks, Hermione wouldn’t know what fun looked like if she were smack in the middle of having it. “I like to read.” That was innocent and true enough. 

“What’s your favorite thing to read?"

She chuckled. “ _ Everything _ .” Hermione rested her elbows on her drawn-up knees and stared down at him, carefree and devastatingly handsome in his casual repose. Beyond a reasonable doubt, she knew: Harry Potter was dangerous— lovely and intriguing, perhaps— but dangerous. 

“Hermione!” Linnie called from over the hill, and Hermione stiffened. By the set of the sun, it was far too late in the afternoon by now; she should have been back to start dinner. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” Hurrying to her feet, she offered him a small smile. She was nearly up the hill before realizing she was still very much barefoot and halted, slamming her palm into her forehead. 

“Looking for these?” Harry’s godfather was standing with her worn work boots, the fabric covered in dust and water stains. He was staring at them peculiarly but offered them to her without another word. 

“Helena!” Harry shouted, bumping into the older wizard as he rushed to her side. “Can I see you again?” 

Warmth that felt far too close too happiness burst inside her chest, and despite knowing better, she nodded. 

XXXXX

  
  


The next morning, Hermione was working in the village at the manor’s cart. They had meager offerings, but it was a small way to add to the Greengrass vaults, and the more that was in there, the less wicked her stepmother seemed to be. 

She passed the time by counting tomatoes… and then carrots… then potatoes. The pure-bloods who roamed the market never seemed all that interested in produce; they sent their servants to shop for food. So the market mornings went by uneventfully… except for one dreaded interaction that happened each week without fail. 

“Hello, pet,” Lucius Malfoy drawled. 

Her teeth ground together, and she began rearranging apples in the basket. 

“Good day, sir,” she managed through a rigid jaw.

“Why do you tease me so?” Lucius crooned with faux sincerity, his leather-gloved hand tightening on his snakehead walking stick. 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered back in her skull briefly before she met his silver-edged gaze. “Is there any produce I can help you with this week?” she asked with a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“I don't know why you have to be so cold, pet. Without me, this little stand would be destitute,” he said with a sneer, poking the produce. “You’d be happy at Malfoy Manor, you know. You’d have your own fine chambers, and I’d clothe you in the prettiest little dresses.” His honeyed voice felt like ice against her skin, and she flinched as he spoke. “I need a girl with spirit." His lips curled up in a wicked grin, his gloved knuckle sliding down her cheek. 

“Prunes?” she asked brightly, holding up a basket for his inspection. 

He flinched away, his lips pulling back into a growl. “Nothing for me today, Miss Granger. Perhaps a reminder of how much your house depends on my generosity ought to do the trick.” 

With a final stab of his walking stick into the dirt, Lucius disappeared into the crowd. Hermione finally let go of the breath she’d been holding onto. 

XXXXX

Harry was laid out in the chair in his father’s study, his leg draped over the armrest and head hanging back as he twirled his wand between his fingers. 

“Father?”

“Hmm?” James answered, not bothering to look up from his parchment. 

Harry paused, mulling over the witch he couldn't shake from his mind. Not being able to find her was becoming increasingly infuriating. No one knew anything about her, and furthermore, no one knew of anyone hosting a cousin. 

“Have you heard of the Fawley family?

“Fawley?” Harry could see the side of James’ face screw up as he signed the bottom of a contract. “They’re Sacred Twenty-Eight. Why?”

Harry chewed on his cheek, debating how much to share with his over meddling father. “I met someone.”

The quill in James’ hand dropped to the desk, and he looked up at his son. “Met someone, you say?” His square jaw cocked to the side.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Dad,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “I just can’t bloody find her! She pops up seemingly out of nowhere.”

“Fawley… Fawley…” James repeated as he chewed on the thought. “What’s her first name?”

“Helena. Helena Fawley.” 

“Now that sounds familiar, actually. You know Ophelia Greengrass?” Harry pulled a face but nodded. “She was married a few times before; maybe one of them was a Fawley? Or related to one? Can’t be sure. She doses those poor fools with love potion and kills them off so quickly, who can keep track?” James snorted, opening another scroll. 

Harry gaped, his jaw hanging open. "Are you serious?"

James’ hand waved dismissively through the air. “Just gossip; you know how this town is.”

“And you want to marry me into her family? Merlin’s tit.” Harry groaned, standing from his seat with an incredulous glare. 

“Ah, it's unlikely her daughters are murderers too,” James shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Besides, I’d know to suspect foul play if you start falling for Astoria Greengrass overnight.”

“Your plan for my life is increasingly fool-proof, Dad. Top-notch parenting,” he grumbled that last bit as the door to the study closed behind him, ignoring the quiet laughter coming from behind his father’s desk.

XXXXX

He hovered on his broom just over the estate—waiting. 

There was a very good chance that Helena was staying with the Greengrasses, but he simply couldn’t run the risk of running into Astoria or her ravenous mother. 

He’d been up here for the better part of half an hour when a carriage finally arrived. The three Greengrass girls filed inside and took off up the lane. As soon as their carriage disappeared on the horizon, Harry tipped his broom towards the ground. 

He gave a final nervous glance over his shoulder and managed a quick knock on the door.

The door opened and the Greengrass house-elf stared up at him with a sceptical glance. “Hello, Mister Potter.” 

“That’s my dad’s name. I’m just Harry.” He grinned awkwardly. His shoulders deflated as he sighed. “I’m— well, I’m looking for someone. I’m wondering if she might be staying here. Her name is—” 

“I know who she is,” Linnie said shortly. In his brief interactions with her, she never was an elf with time for nonsense. “She’s told me about you.” 

At that, his features brightened. “She has? All good things I hope?” 

Linnie groused. 

“Miss will be down in a moment.” The door slammed in his face.

He grumbled to himself as he jogged down the stairs. 

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so bloody nervous. He cleaned his glasses— twice, although they were still smudged— and roughed up his hair a few times, even checked his breath for any rancid odors. 

When the door quietly opened and closed behind him, he took a moment to collect himself before turning over his shoulder. 

Merlin, she really was a stunning witch. He stared for a moment at the lilac hue of her elegant robes, at the beaded strand that tied delicately around her waist and the neckline that exposed her collarbone. They were lovely robes, truly. Only they didn’t look like  _ her _ , if that made any sense at all. 

“You found me,” she said with a shy smile, twining her hands together in front of her. 

Harry took a step towards her, his eyes lost in admiration. How could one witch be simultaneously coy and cunning? 

“Are you busy?” Harry said with a gulp. 

She shook her head, her curls bouncing against her cheeks. 

“Have you heard of the Franciscan Library? It’s quite extensive. I thought maybe you’d want to join me for the afternoon?”

Clearly, Helena had heard of the library. Her jaw fell open, and she blinked several times before closing the distance between them. 

“Yes, please. Only—” She shifted her weight back and forth a few times. “I don’t fly.”

“Oh!” Harry said perhaps too brightly. “Oh, that’s— we’ll walk if you’re up for it.”

The slow curl of her smile wrought one of his own, and his fingers moved of their own accord, tucking one of her curls behind her ear and earning a lovely blush. 

His stare intensified as her body brushed against his. “I think you have me under your spell, Miss.” 

Something sparkled in Helena’s toffee colored eyes, and her lips quirked. “No magic here. I promise.” 

XXXXX

  
  



	3. Three

During the hour-long walk to the library, Hermione felt herself loosen up as she discussed her favourite books and the way that they had shaped over time, like water works over a rough stone throughout her childhood. Harry listened with rapturous attention; he remained bright and fixated on her as she rambled, and on multiple occasions, she blushed and bit her lip. 

“Don’t,” he said, tangling their fingers together. “I like hearing your voice.

When their skin brushed, her magic flared to life, sparking against her skin in an exhilarating way that made her breath hitch. 

“I feel it too.” He smiled, bringing their joined hands to his lips and eliciting another flutter along her skin. 

The feeling cloaked over her again as they pushed open the giant double doors of the Franciscan library. The library at Greengrass Manor was in no way humble, but this?

Hermione had been dreamed of walking through the door of the Franciscan Library for as long as she could remember. Inside were books on magical theory; practical application; the history of Wizardkind; and other topics she couldn't have concocted in her wildest daydreams.

It, regrettably, required a wand to enter, and Hermione had given up on ever walking the stacks years ago. 

However, it seemed that if you were Harry Potter, you didn’t need to present such trivial identification. And if you were the guest of Harry Potter, that honor extended to you as well.. 

The shelves stretched three stories high, and rows and rows of stacks were filled with ancient books. She let her fingers trail over the spines, staring at each one in wonder. 

“Do you want one?” Harry asked, his lips tugging into a mischievous smile. “Pick one.” 

Hermione laughed brightly, her chin tilting back as she peeked over her shoulder at him. “I could no sooner pick a favorite star in the heavens.” 

His stare intensified, and his pointer finger touched lightly just under her chin, turning her face to him. “What is it about them that moves you so?”

From this close, she could smell the lingering scent of his cologne, and her knees buckled briefly as she swayed under his touch. She particularly enjoyed the thick stubble along his jaw, and her heart fluttered in a lovely way in her ribs. 

A few long blinks, the trance was broken; she took a quick step back, remembering who she really was.

Walking a few more paces, she let her gaze rove over each tome. “Books have always been my constant companion. In these pages… I found my escape. I didn’t have to be me, didn’t have to face the reality of what my life had turned out to be. I could be anyone, be anywhere— in these pages I could run away.”

Harry stepped into her, his emerald eyes trailing over her features languidly, and his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, threading through her curls. “What on earth has you made you want to run away so badly?” 

A surprised huff escaped her, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Realisation slammed into her, and visions of Ophelia and Astoria torturing her for years to come crashed behind her lids. 

With a small step, she disentangled herself from her embrace. “Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled to herself, descending a flight of stairs and feeling the heat of Harry’s stare on her back. 

XXXXX

At the end of their time at the library, Harry had purchased her three books all on magical theory and none that she would ever get to put into practical use. Every time she cracked their cover, she would think of this day, her proof that magic existed. 

“Tell me more about you growing up? Where are you from?” Harry asked, turning his step so he was walking backward and could easily study her face. 

Panic washed over her, and she smoothed the perfectly straight fabric of her borrowed robes. “I’m not all that interesting, I promise,” she said with a shy smile. 

“You are to me.”

Her gaze lifted to study the strong planes of his face, and everything about the moment felt charged with unknowable energy. 

“What was it like when you got your Hogwarts letter?” she asked, changing the subject. 

He shrugged indifferently. “I’m not sure I remember it coming in.”

Hermione couldn’t understand a life where receiving one's letter to attend a magical school would be such a footnote. It had been the highlight of her life, until recently. 

Over the hill, Hermione swore she heard a rustle of leaves, and her chin jerked in its direction. “Did you hear that?”

Harry’s face screwed up, but he quickly shook his head. “Just the wind, I’m sure. Do you have plans this weekend? My father is throwing this ridiculous—”

The words died in his throat as his hand shot out to wrap around her waist and pull her behind him. In a perfectly choreographed attack, six men slid down the leaf-covered hill. Before Harry could draw his wand, they tackled him to the ground. 

Hermione stumbled backward as two of the men trapped her arms and pinned them quickly behind her. 

With a wild cry, she thrashed in their arms. Wide, horror-filled eyes watched as Harry was clipped in the jaw by a gruff looking man about their age. The two men near him rummaged through his pockets as Harry fought them off, only stilling when the young man with ebony skin pointed the stolen wand in his face. 

“Fine!” Harry shouted, scrambling to his feet with a wild snarl playing on his lips. “Fine. Your quarrel is with me. The Lady left her wand at her home. Please, let her go and do what you will with me.” Soft desperation laced Harry’s voice as the arms holding her back released her, and she shoved the one to her left hard in the chest. 

“I demand you release us,” Hermione snarled with pursed lips, and the shorter one with a dirty face and a thick Irish accent barked out a laugh. 

“Lass, ye aren’t exactly in the place to be making demands here, are ye?” The Irishman nudged one of his cohorts with his elbow, making an audible snort that irritated her to no end.

A small caravan of men and women in covered wagons and a few horses appeared, and Hermione’s heart impossibly quickened. 

A small girl with crooked teeth and an awful haircut circled her, and Hermione sucked in a full breath. She needed courage now more than ever. 

“If I may offer you a sliver of advice—" Hermione said with a condescending sneer. "You are holding captive the heir to most of the kingdom; it would not fare well to harm a single hair on his head. I can’t imagine what horrors lie for you in the pits of Azkaban. However, if you deprive me of my escort, I demand a horse.”

The short man with ginger hair and a thick accent let out another sharp laugh, and he looked around the group with an amused turn of his mouth. 

“M'lady, you can take anything you can carry.” 

Hermione’s eyes flitted towards Harry, sizing him up based on the barrels she had to lift down in the barn. 

“Do I have your word on that?” she asked, her voice trembling only slightly. 

The gruff man ran his tongue over his teeth once, considering what kind of damage she might be able to inflict at her small stature. “Ay. On my honor as an Irishman— whatever you can carry.” 

Hermione’s lips pulled together into a tight smile, and she turned towards the caravan, beelining for the nearest horse but taking a sharp right instead and walking straight up to Harry. His emerald eyes were wide in confusion, and he tilted his jaw as she lifted his arm and draped it over her shoulder. 

With a brutish squat, she lifted him onto her shoulders, bearing his weight with only a slight shake to her knees. She even managed to turn, nodding in the direction of the Irishman once before turning from their group and making for the road. 

The entire group of vagabonds stared at her, taking small, determined steps away, and suddenly, the space filled with riotous laughter. The Irishman had gone so far to double over on himself and screamed after them as he slapped his knee. 

“Oy! Come back, you crazy witch! You can have your shite back,” he managed through his wild laughter. “Any pure-blood crazy enough to pull a stunt like that is not to be trifled with!” 

XXXXX

Sitting around a wild bonfire, Hermione’s head swam delightfully with some elf-made wine that she had never been lucky enough to taste before. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never played before!” Harry laughed, his cheeks pink with his own drunkenness. 

Hermione deadpanned. “Really? You can’t believe it? I’ve lost every hand!” 

“Alright, just one more time…” Harry grinned, and at that moment, nothing else truly mattered. She nodded and brought her fist up again for the silly little game. 

They pumped their hands three times and threw out the respective hand signals, both a flat hand. Hermione studied it for a moment and, with a small giggle, realised they had yet again tied. 

“You are reading my thoughts.” She blushed. 

Chuckling into his wine, Harry shook his head. “If I could, I fear I would find they are as cloudy as my own.” 

“Do you yield?” Her brow arched in a challenge.

Harry’s head tilted back in a laugh. “ _ Never _ ! My next choice will be paper.” 

Hermione considered the mischievous glint to his eyes and felt a little pulse of magic against her skin. They repeated the steps, and just as she suspected, he lied, his hands forming a crude pair of scissors. 

Luckily for her, she had listened to that little tug inside her and chosen rock. “Hah! You liar—” she chastised playfully sitting back and letting the warmth of the fire kiss her knees. “It’s your turn, Mister Potter. It had better be a good one.”

She watched as conflict washed over his previously happy features, and he shifted his weight until his knee was brushing hers. 

“I have no desire to take over my father’s estate.” His words were heavy with resolution and purpose, and she could see the weight of them in his clear green eyes. 

“Oh, Harry—” Her hands rushED to cover his. “Think of all the wonderful things you could do.” 

“It’s not like that though.” His head shifted in a subtle shake as he swallowed thickly. “There are so many mandates and rules in place. I can’t just sign my name to something and expect change. I am ruled by obligations. You have no idea how insufferable it is to be defined only by my last name. I’m not seen as  _ who _ am I am, but merely  _ what _ I am.”

Hermione’s lip twitched, and she turned to stare at the fire. “You might be surprised by that.” 

“Really?” he asked incredulously. 

“Consider a Muggleborn, for example… or a half-blood, even. They are rarely painted as anything else. To the world, they are defined by their blood status just as much as you are. Everyone has silent burdens they carry, and you have the opportunity to use yours in a way that the rest of the world could never have dreamt of.” Her words were tumbling out of her mouth, and a soft blush crept up her throat.

Harry was staring at her with a low brow, his lips pulled into a lopsided grin.

“I’m mortified… I’m sorry. My mouth has yet again run away with me. I never how to get it to stop—”

“On the contrary, m'lady.” Harry’s hand lifted to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing along the freckles smattered across her cheeks. “It is your mouth that has me hypnotized.” 

Something unfurled deep inside her, and unwittingly her gaze flickered to his parted lips. There was a barely-there tug at the nape of her neck, urging her closer until their lips hovered a breath away. 

She’d been kissed a few times in her life, but when his lips pillowed hers... she knew she’d never  _ really _ been kissed. Not anywhere close to this. 

This. 

This was everything. His lips moved softly against hers, his fingers tangled in her curls, and the sensation sent a shiver down her spine. Her own hands twisted into his shirt, and when his tongue ran along the seam of her mouth, she arched into him, a soft feminine noise slipping past her lips. 

“Oy! Lovebirds!” The Irishman, who had since been introduced as Seamus Finnegan, shouted at them with a drunken boisterousness. “Stop copulating by me fire!”

Their foreheads pressed together as they shared a quiet laugh; Hermione folded her lips in, running her tongue along her the swell of her lip, savoring the taste of his kiss. 

“It’s a long walk tonight,” Harry whispered in the darkness, the feeling of his breath fanning over her skin made her skin prickle. “We should go.” 

Hermione managed a nod and as he shuffled to his feet and extended his hand, she couldn’t place the sadness churning in her belly.

  
  


XXXXX

The walk was indeed long and by the time that the sun crested over the hill, they found themselves on the fringe of Greengrass Manor. Hermione froze. Reality waited in there. Reality that looked and felt punishment for not returning and she didn’t dare want to think about the implications of her actions. 

“Here,” Harry said, offering the books he’d gotten for her with a small smile. “For you.” 

Her lips folded in on themselves before her teeth caught them, and she once again pressed her body into his. “It’s unfair. You know my weakness, but I’m yet to learn yours.” 

Harry pulled back, cradling her cheeks in his palms as he tilted her face towards his. “I should have thought that quite obvious.” 

A painful blush bloomed across her cheeks, and she lifted onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

She took a few steps towards the Manor, still hopeful she might slip in unnoticed, even though she knew that wasn’t going to happen. 

"Helena!" Harry hissed quietly. 

There was no denying the flutter of nerves in her belly as she turned back towards him with a single nod. 

“Will you meet me tomorrow? The ruins near the lake.” There was something endearing and far too bloody hopeful in his eyes for her taste, but she nodded anyway. 

“I shall try.” 

A wide grin pulled on his features as he pulled his wand from his trousers. “Then I shall wait all day.” 

With a crack, he disappeared, a swirl of vibrant magic left lingering in his wake. 

XXXXX

Inside, Hermione pulled the dress from her shoulders and left it in a heap in the kitchens where she hoped it wouldn’t collect soot. Thankfully, she’d left her previous dress there as well and slipped it over her body before tying an apron around her waist. 

Linnie was suspiciously missing from the kitchens, and Hermione couldn’t help the ominous feeling burying deep in her belly as she made for her bedchambers.

Hermione didn’t know much about her magic, but she knew the way that it warned her from dangerous things and when she stepped over the threshold of her bedroom door, she felt its warning before she felt the curse. 

A wild, thrashing pain coursed through her as her body bent unnaturally to the will of Ophelia’s magic. It wasn’t the first time she’d fallen prey to her curses, but this one was cast with a strong vigor that even Hermione could feel. 

After a few seconds that felt like hours, the pain dulled away, and Hermione raked in shattered breaths as her gaze focused on her stepmother looming over her.

`

  
  



	4. Four

The cold stone leeched the warmth from her body as Hermione trembled in the corner of the cellar. No matter how hard she clenched her lids shut, she couldn’t banish the vivid imaginings of Harry’s face when she didn’t show up. 

He would undoubtedly think she’d abandoned him, that maybe she didn’t feel the same way that he did. Preposterous. She had fallen just as madly in love with him as he had with her. 

She should never have waited. What time could ever be right to confess that you’ve lied completely about who you are and have been masquerading above your station? 

A cold wind floated down through the bars of the cellar window, and Hermione huddled deeper into the corner, clutching at her threadbare dress to savor any lingering warmth.

“Hermione?” A familiar hushed voice slipped through the quiet, and in an instant, she was on her feet, climbing atop a barrel to peer into the night. “Psssst, Hermione!”

It was quite possible this was a trick, but the hope that someone had come to her rescue overwhelmed her fear. “Yes?” 

There was a squelching noise, boots through wet mud, and when Sirius Black crouched down to peer through the window, he grinned. “Ah, there you are my girl! Got yourself in quite a mess, didn’t you?”

Hermione’s jaw fell open as her fingers curled around the cold stone. “Sirius! How on earth did you find me?” 

“That Greengrass trash just arrived at Potter Hall, and when Harry couldn’t find you...I had a suspicion that I simply couldn’t ignore. Step back, would you dear?” 

Hermione hopped down from the barrel lithely. “She’s sealed the door, Sirius. I’ll never get out.” 

Even Linnie had attempted to knock it down to no avail, and while there was always Apparition, neither of them were willing to risk the splinch. 

Sirius barked a laugh as he rose to his feet. “Ophelia Greengrass? Outwitting me? The girl could hardly summon an intelligent thought at Hogwarts, let alone properly imprison someone. Now, all the way back if you will, love. Maybe take a bit of cover?” 

Hermione’s brow crinkled, and she rushed to the far corner of the cellar, crouching between a few crates. 

“ _ Bombarda _ !” The window she had just been at imploded, sending rubble flying through the air and she let out a wild shriek as she attempted to make herself smaller. Sirius hopped through the gaping hole and landed lightly on his feet. “There! That’s better.”

Hermione emerged, staring down at her tattered work robes and subconsciously rubbing away the dirt she knew caked her cheeks. 

Sirius seemed un-phased as he held his hand out for her to take. “Now, let’s get you to that party, shall we?” There was a mischievous crinkle to his eye that seemed to be distinctly his. 

“I can’t— I’m not who I’ve been pretending to be. I’ve lied to him and—” 

“Yes, I know.” 

“You—” A little huff slipped past her lips. “You know? How on earth could you know?”

“Your shoes. That day by the lake.” He shrugged absently. “Amongst many other things. No offense, love, but no pure-blood witch of society would be caught dead in those tattered old things.” Sirius chuckled lightly, his lips curling up in a lopsided smile. 

“I still can’t. He won’t understand—”

“He might,” Sirius implored with a stern glare. “And regardless, he deserves to hear it from the woman he loves.” 

Hermione’s breath hitched painfully in her throat as tears stung her eyes. “A bird may love a fish, sir, but where would they live?” 

Sirius' dark eyes flashed, and his smirk widened as he lifted his knotted wand for inspection. “I will have to make you wings.” 

Was it possible for one's heart to swell to the point of bursting? If it was, Hermione’s was on the verge of doing so. She felt her magic kiss against her skin as she nodded, delighting in her decision. 

XXXXX

She had said she’d come. There was no possible way he’d misinterpreted it. She’d said it, and he’d heard it, and now she wasn’t bloody here. 

It was infuriating. 

James Potter was mingling around the party, his simple black mask perched easily across his nose. Every once in a while, Harry would catch his gaze and James would point towards the clock, nearing midnight with each tick. 

When the clock hovered closer to the hour, James summoned Harry to the front of the ballroom. If it were possible, Harry would have bruised ribs in the morning from his heart pounding against them. 

“Do you have a name for me, son? Or will I be choosing for you?” James said in a low voice and frustration swelled inside his chest.  _ Where in the bloody hell was she? _

“Dad, I swear, I really do, but she’s been detained. She’s not here. Just give me until tomorrow. I’ll figure it out.” 

Around them, a small crowd formed, awaiting the announcement with buzzing anticipation. In the front were a few pure-blood families that still hoped their daughter's last name would change to Potter. 

Pansy was there, Hannah too. Obviously, the Greengrass family was present and practically vibrating with nervous energy, and Harry’s eyes flittered over the prospects with a knot in his belly. 

“Wait, Dad—” Harry took a few steps closer to Ophelia and her daughters and ignored the proud tilt of her chin as a quiet murmur spread through the crowd. “Missus Greengrass— where’s Helena?” His gaze floated over her shoulders, still hoping to spot her somewhere in the crowd. 

Ophelia’s eyes sharpened, her lips pursing unattractively, deepening the lines around her mouth. “Helena?”

“Yes. Helena Fawley. She’s staying at your house, is she not?” 

The witch’s nostrils flared as her lip curled back. She opened her mouth to speak but there— just there. 

Something caught his attention over her shoulder, and his heart wrenched painfully and delightfully at all once. She was here. She was really, truly, delightfully here. 

Standing in the back of the room in a silver gown that fell off her shoulders in a glittering cape that nearly resembled a set of wings. Her face wasn’t hidden like most others in the room and instead, her cheekbones shimmered lightly. 

“Excuse me,” he mumbled absently, and he tore through the crowd that parted to greet the new witch. 

He pulled his charcoal mask from his cheeks and stared at her with wonder in his eyes. “You came. I almost thought you'd forgotten me.” His voice was awestruck as he held his hand out for her. 

“I need to speak to you,” she said in a low voice, her brow worried and wrinkled. “It’s important.” 

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait—” Gripping her fingers hard in his, he dragged her towards the centre of the room, even as her feet attempted to find purchase on the polished wood floors. 

“Harry,” she hissed over the mumblings of the crowd, their eyes wild with confusion. “Harry, please listen.” 

With a bright laugh, he waved towards Seamus and Dean, as well as the other Muggleborns and half-bloods he’d convinced his father to invite. “Look.” He pointed with a grin. “I invited the Muggleborns!”

Something flickered in her chocolate eyes, and a ghost of a smile played on her lips. While she had been attempting to slow their gait, this time something forcibly stopped him from dragging forward, and he dropped her hand, turning to face the issue. 

Ophelia Greengrass was suddenly there, wand drawn, and pointed squarely at the back of Helena. A severing charm tore from her lungs and Helena’s beautiful train ripped from her shoulders before Harry could react. 

The crowd gasped, and Harry’s eyes went wide with horror. “ _ Ophelia _ !”

Helena crumpled, tears sliding through the glitter on her cheeks as she clutched to her bodice and wailed, “ _ No-no-no-no _ .” 

“I should have known you were up to something, you filthy little Mudblood,” Ophelia snarled at the weeping witch. 

“Ophelia, you are on dangerous grounds!” Harry roared, and even James took a few steps towards the altercation, shrugging his wand from his sleeve.

With a heaving, overly-exaggerated sigh, Ophelia turned towards James, all while keeping her wand trained on the trembling witch next to Harry. 

“Sir, it is my displeasure to inform you that your son has been duped by this girl. She’s not of pure blood and has been a servant in my home for the past ten years. She’s a greedy little imposter, and it is my duty to—” 

“Oh, RUBBISH!” Harry snorted, turning towards Helena, who was still openly weeping. But she didn’t look angry like he did. She looked— guilty. “Helena?” 

This simple word brought on a fresh new round of tears, and he watched with a sickening twist of his gut as she straightened her spine. “Helena Fawley was my mother,” she said with a trembling voice. “My name is Hermione Granger… I am what she says.” 

“Harry!” James barked. “Someone had better explain and now!” 

For a moment, all eyes floated between Hermione and Harry, who was still trying to make sense of what happened. 

“You— you lied to me?” The words felt bitter on his tongue. They didn’t make sense… he’d seen her. Seen her in the market… saving a Muggleborn. But no, she was a witch; he could feel her magic against his own—but had he ever seen a wand?

Ophelia took another step forward and whipped her wand through the air, bringing Hermione crashing to her knees in front of him. “Bow before a pure-blood, you insolent half-blood!”

Hermione’s head tilted back as a strangled sob clawed its way up her throat. 

Servant? Half-blood… Harry stumbled back with his hands at his sides, ready to brace himself from the sheer onslaught of new information. 

Ophelia seemed to regain her composure and dropped her wand, releasing Helena, or rather Hermione, from her spell. The curly haired witch stood shakily and turned to run from the room, stumbling only once on the trailing fabric of her gown and slipping out of one of her shoes. She looked back at it and, with a pained pull of her features, abandoned it there as she sprinted from the room. 

Half-blood? 

Harry took a few steps forward and picked up the glittering silver heel, inspecting it carefully. 

His hard gaze lifted to where Ophelia stood, and with a clenched jaw, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room in the opposite direction of Hermione Granger. 

He expected to hear the swing of the door behind him as he stomped down the servant's passage but instead, he heard rushed footsteps. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Sirius following him with his hands shoved in horribly under-dressed trousers and a soft frown on his face. 

“Can you believe this?” Harry shouted, lifting the heel up but not halting in his retreat. 

“What part exactly?” 

Harry stopped abruptly, turning to take in Sirius’ nonchalant turn of his head. “She lied to me!”

Sirius’ chest deflated, his lips pulling up into a lopsided smile. “She came here to tell you the truth.” 

“She wouldn’t have needed to tell me the truth if she'd have just been honest in the first place!” Harry’s chest felt full of rage and disappointment, and he feared that any moment he might burst. 

“Would you have given her the time of day if she had?” Sirius asked softly, taking a tentative step towards him. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you condoning her pretending to be a pure-blood to get my attention? What kind of sick, messed up—” 

Sirius’ hands raised and he shook his head. “I’m not, but you and your dad— you don’t really understand what it’s like not to fit into this world the way you should. I was exiled from my family simply for loving someone I shouldn’t, and I wouldn’t change that for an instant. Werewolf or not—”

“ _ Werewolf _ ? “Wait, You and Remus?” Harry gaped, his eyes blowing wide. 

Sirius chuckled darkly, running his hands through his curly hair. “You would be surprised by who I am when I’m not here, my boy. And there isn’t a day I would take any of that back, no matter what it has cost me. What I found instead is far greater. You are dangerously close to losing the best thing in your life. They don’t make witches like her.”

Nothing about the moment felt right, and every emotion he was experiencing was battling it out to be the most dominant one. “I don’t know if I can forgive her,” he managed through a tight jaw. 

Sirius sighed, hanging his head low with a sad smile. “Then you don’t deserve her.” He turned, slowly returning the way he came, and Harry felt his words like a blunt force to his chest. “Take care of that shoe, mind you. It was a tricky spell turning a work boot to a slipper. Don’t let my hard work go to waste.” 

Harry stared back at the immaculate shoe in his hands and levied a heavy sigh. How had everything gotten so bloody messed up?

XXXXX

Hermione didn’t return to the Manor that night, not really. She choose to sleep in the barn, her beautiful charmed dress collecting dirt as she cried herself to sleep on a hay bale surrounded by livestock. 

She was startled awake, two hands shaking her roughly and imploring her to open her eyes. Squinting, her focus settled on Linnie, her eyes wide and horrified, and Daphne who was already trying to pull her to feet. 

“You’ve got to go, Hermione,” she whispered, thrusting a bag in hands. “Mother’s furious, and I don’t know what she’ll do. There’s some money and some clothes, but you should go  _ now _ .” 

“Daphne? What on earth are you talking about? I don’t have anywhere to go…” The pain of the night before crashed down on her shoulders, and Hermione’s throat constricted. 

“I don’t care where you go but go! I know you think she’s wicked, but you don’t know everything, and I don’t want you ending up like your father… or mine for that matter.” Pain flashed behind Daphne's clear blue eyes, and Hermione felt something uncurl in belly. She'd always suspected foul play where her father was concerned, but something about the ferocity in Daphne's expression solidified it. She nodded, taking the bag and wrapping Daphne in a firm hug. Looking down at Linnie, she offered her a tight smile. For many years, she was the closest thing Hermione had to a friend—even if she was far from friendly.

“Thanks for all the memories, Linnie,” she said with a wry smile. 

The house elf rolled her eyes, jerking towards the barn doors with her chin. “Out of here with you.”

Hermione mouthed a silent thank you to Daphne, who nodded solemnly, and then she rushed through the garden door and turned sharply left for the fields. 

“ _ Petrificus Totalus _ !” A bored voice drawled, and Hermione felt her body freeze against her will, unable to even blink as she toppled to the ground. 

Fear raged inside her as she heard two sharp gasps from the barn door, and when a shadow fell over her stiff form, she knew Ophelia had found her. 

“Honestly, Daphne. Betraying your own family like this?” Her words were like honey dripping slowly from Ophelia’s curled lips, and cold tears slid down Hermione’s frozen cheeks. “Tsk, tsk. I’ll have to deal with you later,” Ophelia clucked. 

Hermione’s breath came sharp and pained as a second figure joined her stepmother. “ _ Finite _ ,” a male voice drawled, and suddenly life returned to her body. Hermione rolled onto her stomach, digging her fingers in the earth as she dragged in long breaths. 

“Are you quite sure you don’t mind taking her off our hands, Lucius?” Ophelia asked with wicked glee. 

Fear washed over Hermione, and she pushed up to her knees, daring to glance up at the two figures shrouded in early morning light, one of them with long, white-blond hair and a delighted grin forming on his features. “No…” she breathed, backing up on her hands. “Please, you can’t.”

“Happy to help, Ophelia,” he replied with a swarmy grin. “As long as you don’t care what becomes of her.” 

At that Ophelia snorted. “This little whore just cost my daughter insurmountable wealth and status—I don’t care what happens to her, so long as it hurts.”

“Can do.” The last thing she saw was the tip his walking stick before it crashed into her temple.

  
  


XXXXX

Harry woke with a start, his hands pressing into the soft duvet of his bed as sweat formed at his brow. 

Something was wrong. 

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, his eyes caught on his father, sitting casually in the high back chair near his wardrobe. He was still wearing the clothes from the night before, though his tie and mask were missing and several buttons of his shirt were loosened. 

“Father,” he greeted with a gulp.

James sighed, the side of his mouth screwing up. “I fear I may have been too hard on you.” 

_ Oh _ . Well, that was… unexpected. 

“You see,” James continued, “When we lost your mum, I just desperately wanted to be enough for you. I keep thinking back to all the different ways she would have done things. She would have been much better for you than I am. She would have been kinder, taught you how to love properly... that’s how she was.” James huffed.

“She just had this way about her. She didn’t see the world as it was, she saw it as it  _ should  _ be. We couldn’t make it through town without stopping to empty my coin purse for those in need.” James paused, lost in a memory that Harry would never share. 

“Sounds like someone I know,” Harry offered, the space between his brows crinkling in thought as he chewed on his cheek. 

“Sirius mentioned that. Do you love her?” James asked, peering over the edge of his spectacles. 

Harry opened his mouth to answer but found the words to be… complicated. “I think I do— I did, before all this.” He dragged his hands down his face, before reaching for his glasses. 

“Did you know your mother was Muggleborn?” 

Harry froze, looking up at his father who was hiding a smile as he twirled his wand with his fingertips. 

“No, she wasn’t. Mum was—” 

“Mum was born Lily Evans. Her parents passed away during our first year at Hogwarts and her sister disowned her. Soon, Remus and Padfoot and I, we were her family.” James blinked a few times, his eyes turning misty. 

“I’m a pure-blood,” Harry said firmly; it’s what he knew to be true his entire life. What  _ everyone _ knew to be true. 

“You’re not. We never even told anyone you were—it was assumed. Your mother wasn’t from around here, and people never thought I wouldn’t take a pure-blood wife. I didn’t give two figs about who her parents were. I cared about the way she lit up a room with her smile and the way my stomach danced when she touched my hand. If you love this Hermione Granger, don’t let her get away on something so trivial.” 

James stood, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair and making for the door. He paused when his hand was on the doorknob, looking over his shoulder with a mischievous grin. “After all, you’re half-blood too.” 

XXXXX

Harry was barely dressed, his shirt still mostly unbuttoned as he landed outside of the Greengrass Estate. He ran up the steps, pounding his fist against the ornate door until finally, someone answered. 

Linnie, who looked as kind as Harry could ever remember, appeared, her shoulders hunched and a crudely healed gash on her forehead. 

“Linnie—” he panted, dropping to one knee. “I need to know where Hermione is.” 

“LINNIE!” A shrill scream came from behind her, and the poor elf flinched, her face contorting in pain as she flew magically back from the door. 

Harry’s jaw clenched as he rose to stand. 

Ophelia stepped into the morning light, her robes the deepest color of crimson and a wide-brimmed hat fitted neatly over her strawberry colored curls. 

“Harry,” she cooed with a false smile, her perfect teeth gleaming like a cat preparing to feast. “What can I do for you dear?” 

“You know why I’m here, Ophelia. I need to speak to Hele—” Harry cleared his throat and started again. “I’m here to speak to Hermione. Can you please tell her I’m here?” 

Ophelia’s hand flittered up to her painted lips and made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry… but Hermione is longer a servant at this estate.” Harry didn’t miss the delighted twitch of her lips. 

Harry swiftly removed his glasses and pressed his fingers into his temple for a moment. “Of course,” he sighed, returning his glasses to his face. “Where is she?”

“It’s of no concern to you. She was a horrible servant.” The elderly witch huffed, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her robes. “Her most recent stunt—whoring herself out to pure-bloods—is not something that I would like associated with my family. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m tired after last night's activities,” her lips curled around the word like a curse, and she stepped back into the shadows of her home, only a sharp sliver of light illuminating her right eye. “I’ll be sure to let Astoria know you stopped by.” 

The door slammed shut in his face, and his fist cracked against the thick wood. “ _ Fuck _ !” Harry growled, his features pulled tight as he descended the stairs. 

He worked his way towards the edge of the property, his mind reeling of where on earth Ophelia could have sent her when he heard the familiar crack of Apparition. 

Jumping from his skin, he turned wildly and found Daphne only a few paces away. 

A tremble worked its way through her body, and she pulled at her fingers in an attempt to stop the shaking. There was something distinctly off about her; her hair was frazzled and her blue eyes bloodshot. 

“Daph? Are you alright?” Harry rushed to her, cradling her elbows and dipping his knees to study her expression. 

“M-Malfoy’s. That’s where she is—” her quiet voice cracked, tears brimming in her eyes. 

Harry looked over her shoulder at the Manor looming on the horizon. His fingers curled around the top of her arms, and he squeezed her lightly. “Can you get to mine? My dad will take care of you. I’m going to fix all of this. I swear it.”

“Maybe,” she swallowed. “Maybe.” 

He crushed her into his chest and hugged her fiercely, feeling the tremors of a curse working through her body. “I will see you soon. Just have to visit the fucking Malfoys first. Fuck, nothing can ever be easy for me.” 

Daphne chuckled in his arms, a few tears staining his thin shirt. “You bring it on yourself. Sodding Gryffindors.”

Harry barked out a genuine laugh as he stepped away from her. “I’ll see you at Potter Hall.”

  
  
  
  



	5. Five

She’d lived in Greengrass Manor for half her life and in no way did she associate happy or warm memories with the place. But compared to the dark magic and macabre decor of the ancestral Malfoy home, she would skip back to her cold spot near the fire with a grin on her face. 

Malfoy had placed chains around her ankles after she’d tried to toss herself from a moving carriage on the ride here. And even after only half a day, the iron had began to rub her skin raw. 

Malfoy Manor boasted any number of house elves scurrying about, creatures who could dust the shelves or clean the floors with a snap of their knotty fingers. But why on earth would they do that when instead they could force Hermione to scrub the marble floors on all fours like an animal? 

A shiny pair of dragonhide boots appeared in her eye line, and she stiffened, her fingers clenching around the soaked sponge in her hands until the water pooled on the floor. 

“I had a horse like you once,” Lucius drawled. When she didn’t respond, he reached down to tangle his long fingers in her curls and yanked her to her feet. 

Against her will, a terrified whimper slipped from her tongue. 

“She was wild and full of unbridled—” His face hovered near hers, hot breath fanning over her face and tickling the curls on her cheeks. “— _ spirit _ . Like you, she simply needed to be  _ broken _ .”

Hermione ’s jaw clenched together as he wrenched her head back further and breathed deeply against the skin of her neck. “You will maintain your distance, sir.” 

“I think you’ll find that distance is something difficult for me, especially where you’re concerned. I was planning to wait to enjoy my new toy until tonight, but something about this fire in you... I do so like it when they fight back.” His pink tongue moved to drag up her neck, and she growled, her elbow jammed into his sternum, effectively knocking the wind from him. 

He doubled over, and with lightning quick movements, she reached for his robe pocket where he had stored his wand earlier. 

The heel of his expensive boot caught in the puddle of water, and he crashed onto his back, sucking in haggard breaths as she loomed over him with his own wand pointed at his chest. 

Hermione’s chest painfully inflated as magic coursed through her and thrummed down the arm cradling the stolen wand. She’d never had anything that channeled the power in her into something usable, and while she knew not a single spell, she was confident that a single flick of her wrist could kill the deplorable man at her feet. 

“I could kill you for this,” he sneered, his eyes narrowing on her. 

A small indignant huff escaped her, and she jabbed the tip of his wand closer to him. “Not if you’re dead,” she managed through gritted teeth. “I am no longer your property. Forget my existence, or I swear on my parents' graves I will kill you and take my sentence for it gladly knowing that the earth is a brighter place without you in it.” 

XXXXX

A shiver worked its way up his spine as he hovered over the dreary home of Lucius Malfoy. The man was as crooked as he was wealthy, and it was always of sound advise to stay as far away from him and his dark dealings as possible. 

But his girl was in there, and she needed him. 

Tipping his broom towards the ground, he landed gracefully and took a steadying breath as he dismounted. 

_ For Hermione _ . 

Wand in hand and a determined vigor to his step, he marched towards the front gates. 

The door opened quickly, and he froze in his steps, ready to take on Lucius—or, Merlin forbid, his son—in a duel. But he froze when Hermione emerged, clad in a tattered dress with a fraying hem and a smile lingering on her lips. She paused midstep before bunching the curls off her shoulders and pulling them to the side, closing the short distance between them. 

Words failed him. Surely he should have practiced something far more debonair than staring wordlessly at her. “Hello,” he managed quietly. 

“Hello.” There was a long pause as he studied her features up close again. Knowing that this was the real her made everything new, and he found that he liked her so much more as Hermione. “What are you doing here?” Without waiting for his response, she moved past him. 

“I came to save you,” he confessed, the words falling flat in the moment. 

She scoffed, a pretty little noise that’d he heard a dozen times in the short week they’d known each other. It meant that she found him infuriating. 

“Came to save me?” she retorted, turning with a severe arch to her brow. “A half-blood?” 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, given the recent revelation about his heritage, but decided this was not that moment. “Actually, I came to beg your forgiveness. I wanted you to trust me and at the first test, I betrayed you.” 

She resumed her exit, her heels tamping down the dirt with step. Harry called out, “Hermione, please.” 

She stopped, her shoulders sagging as she turned with a weepy expression. “Say it again,” she breathed. 

Harry’s eyes widened, and he took a shallow step towards her. “I’m sor—”

“No,” she shook her head, curls bouncing around her cheeks. “The part where you said my name.” 

His cheek pulled up into a wide grin, and when he repeated her given name once again, her eyes fluttered closed, and she smiled. 

After far too long for his liking, he cupped her cheeks, and she leaned into his touch. “Have I said I’m sorry yet?” 

“One or twice.” She smiled, a chuckle shaking her shoulders. “But you’ll find I’m not apt to get tired of hearing it.” 

“Then I’ll tell you every day,” Harry promised but again she shook her head while her hands twined behind his neck. 

“I will settle for you just calling me my name.” Their lips brushed together in a barely-there kiss. 

“Hermione,” he whispered against her lips a moment before their lips pressed softly together, their arms winding around each other like a vice. They kissed each other breathless, his hand snaking up her spine to thread through the curls at the nape of her neck. 

Their foreheads pressed neatly together as the kiss ended, and they shared panted breaths. “I don’t suppose you know where I could find the owner of this rather remarkable shoe?” From behind him, he pulled the enchanted slipper, still covered in shimmering gemstones and created just for her. 

“She is my match in every way,” Harry said thickly, his own emotion catching thick in his throat. “Please tell me I haven’t lost her.” 

Harry dropped to his knee, steadying his breath as she studied him with a disbelieving glint to her eyes. 

“I kneel before you not as Harry Potter, but as a man in love. And nothing—not my father's estate or all the galleons in Gringotts—matters much to me if I don’t have you to share it with me, to challenge me—to infuriate me.”

Her laugh tickled something deep inside him as she buried her face in her hands, peeking up over the tips of her fingers as she watched him gesture for her muddy boot. 

He slipped it easily from her foot and cradled her heel softly, the slipper poised to slip on. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

There it was again, that laugh. That laugh that he would die a hundred deaths to hear. 

Tears streaked through her dirt-caked cheeks and for a moment, his heart doubted her answer. It wasn’t long though, before she was grinning and nodding and crashing into his arms all while screaming her happy reply and peppering his cheeks and lips with kisses. 

XXXXX

It took a few weeks to plan every last detail, and during that time, he kept Hermione safely hidden and finally well fed, clothed, and in a proper bed. A bed he shared with her every night. 

An owl had been sent to Greengrass Manor—now without Daphne living under Ophelia’s boot heel—asking for their presence as the son and heir to the Potter estate announced his bride. 

The letter was true enough, and when Ophelia, flanked by Astoria, floated through the room with their chins held high and staring down their noses at the rest of the guests, Harry tried his best to hide his smile. 

They made quick work of shuffling towards the Potters, curtseying elegantly in front of them. 

“Madame Greengrass,” James huffed. “Glad you make it under the circumstances.” 

Peeking up through her lashes with a smug smile, she chirped, “Circumstances?” 

“I’ve heard under very good authority you’re under investigation for murder,” James said cooly, cocking his head to the side. 

At this Ophelia’s spine snapped straight, and her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me? That is absolutely untrue. What a slanderous thing to say,” she gasped, clutching at her chest as she stared around the room. 

“Moody?” James called over his shoulder, and a team of Aurors emerged from the small crowd. 

Ophelia panicked, stepping backward and shielding her favorite daughter from the stares of the onlookers. 

“Ophelia Greengrass, you are under arrest for the willful and planned murders of Charles Granger and Hanover Greengrass. You have a right to a solicitor. Anything confessed from this moment on can and will be used in your trial before the Wizengamot. You are to be held in Azkaban prison until that time—unless…” Alistair Moody’s gruff voice faded. 

Ophelia looked around wildly. “Unless?” 

“Unless someone here can attest to your character and allow you to remain in your manor under strict house arrest after forfeiting your wand.” Moody’s magical eye made a buzzing noise, and Ophelia flinched.

She turned towards the people gathered around her, each one staring at her as though she were a caged animal. 

“Anyone?” Ophelia simpered, reaching for Lady Parkinson, who recoiled from her touch. 

Hermione appeared through the grand doors, her elegant robes billowing behind her as they kissed the marble flooring. “I will speak for her,” she said calmly, and the rest of the crowd took a few measured steps back. 

Ophelia’s eyes bulged from her head as she took in the graceful walk of her former servant. 

“She is, after all, my stepmother.”

Even from his vantage point, Harry could see the visible tightening of Ophelia's jaw as she fell into another curtsey, this one slightly understated. 

“I want to make something clear,” Hermione said quietly, her voice a low warning. “If you killed my father, I will gladly see you rot in Azkaban for the rest of your days. I don’t know if you dosed with love potion, and for the sake of your daughters, I truly hope you did not. I saw the way he looked at you once, and I pray that was real love. However, you are a monster, in every aspect of the word, and after today I will never think of you again for the rest of my life. You, I fear, will think of me every day for the rest of yours.” 

Ophelia's lips curled into a sneer, her hand tightening on her wand, ready to draw it on Hermione. With a quick stab of Moody’s walking stick, her wand, as well as Astoria's, was removed from their possession and landed in his open palm. 

“There’ll be none of that,” he warned. “Now, what say you, Mrs. Potter—” 

“ _ Mrs. Potter _ ?” Astoria balked, her jaw unhinging as her gaze locked on Hermione’s left hand and the thin gold band resting on her third finger. 

“I’m sorry, Astoria. I forgot to introduce you... to my wife.” Harry grinned something wicked as Astoria’s jaw clamped shut and her nostrils flared in an over-exaggerated pout. 

“Right, now that’s been established-- Mrs. Potter?”

“I will speak on her behalf. If she is left without her wand and restricted to her grounds, I don’t think she could be of any harm to anyone. That is, as long as her house elf is released—Ophelia is rather violent towards her.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed briefly, but before she said another word, she stepped around Ophelia and into Harry’s waiting arms. 

“There you have it Alistair. Please, remove this criminal and her daughter from my property. Her house elf is most welcome here—as a free and paid employee of the estate.” James waved his hand dismissively and turned back into the crowd, not bothering to watch the subsequent arrest of the Greengrasses. 

XXXXX

“I have something for you.” Sirius grinned, his hands secured behind his back. “Consider it a belated wedding gift.” 

Hermione closed her book and placed it on the bench next to her. “Sirius, you’ve given me so much already. Besides, what else could I ever want?” She gestured towards the sprawling estate behind her, still in complete shock of how quickly her life had changed into a fairy tale. 

Harry sat dutifully at her side, his forefinger tracing small circles on her exposed shoulder.

Shrugging, Sirius offered her a long slender box and with a crinkled brow, she took it, lifting the lid easily. 

Inside was a long tan wand, wrapped in etched vines and leaves that faded towards its tip. 

“Sirius?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. 

“I made it. It’s created especially for you, and you might find it works rather well—I’m not shoddy at my craft, I assure you.” Sirius winked at Harry, who shook with a quiet laugh next to her. 

She was unable to join their happy moment because she still was frozen in her disbelief, the tip of her finger following a swirl of ivy. 

“It’s vine wood, ten and three quarters. Dragon heartstring—after all, you’ve breathed fire into our boy here. What else could be appropriate?”

“I can’t— I don’t—” she stammered as she tried to think of something fitting to say, but nothing seemed right. “Thank you.” 

“Say nothing of it! You’re now my godchild as well, and even if I’m not here for you two every step of the way, I’m a Patronus away, yeah?”

“Does that mean you’re leaving?” Harry asked from next to her. 

“Ay, it’s time for me to be back on the road. I follow the moon.” Sirius made purposeful eye contact with Harry and offered him a wink, which Hermione couldn’t pretend to understand. 

“You two be good. I’ll be back around before you’ve created some wild-haired children to destroy this house. Although, the title  _ great _ godfather does have a beautiful ring to it.” Sirius' neck twitched, almost like his Animagus form, and he added quickly, “Don’t let Harry teach you. He’s a bit rubbish with his magic. James is better—maybe even the house elves?” 

“ _ Hey _ !” Harry shouted, but Sirius was already mid-transformation, a smile lingering as turned into his shaggy black dog form. 

Padfoot pushed his nose into Hermione’s knee, and she stared at him curiously for a long moment. 

“He wants his ears scratched,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “He always does when he’s Padfoot.” 

“Oh!” Hermione responded with a giggle, reaching to scratch behind his ear as he cocked his head into her touch. 

He let out a single bark and took off in a run down the lane, disappearing behind a row of trees. 

“Well, what now, my queen?” Harry asked casually, slinging his foot over his knee. 

What now? Everything felt settled and right and intrinsically happy. 

She settled into the crook of his arm. “Now, I think we live happily ever after.” 

“Ay, sounds like a plan to me, love.” Harry pressed a kiss into her curls, and she idly plucked the wand from its carrier. Her husband let out a wild yelp, scooting away from her and bringing his fingers up to his lips. 

“What happened?” She turned, worry plain on her face. 

Harry laughed in response, chewing on his cheek as he eyed the wand in her grasp. “Sirius was right, that wand was made for you. But best we don’t touch while you’re holding it until you’ve learned to wield it properly. I have a feeling you’re going to be a force to be reckoned with.” 

A mischievous smirk tugged on her lips and her nose crinkled playfully as she pointed the tip in Harry’s direction. “And who says I’m not now?” 

And with that, they lived happily ever after. 

The end. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading along! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this rare fluff from me :D


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